


Pray to the Wind and Stars

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Episode Ignis Ending-based, M/M, oracle!Ignis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: After Altissia. After Gralea. After the Ring. After the Crystal.Ignis Scientia knew that he went against the Gods, that his very existence was tantamount to treason.But to Ignis, with the magic of the Oracles running through his veins and the whispering of a woman whose only sin was to believe in Gods who did not believe in her, it was worth it.If it kept Noctis safe, he would do anything. They would do anything.





	Pray to the Wind and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to the prompt for Oracle!Ignis. I didn't want to erase Luna, and I wanted to give her more of a voice. She and Ignis will get to plot to keep Noctis safe.

His fingers were numb. That was the first thing Ignis realized when he woke, the lights above swimming around his head like ghosts. He could see figures above him, their color washed out but still present in the sea of gray.

But it wasn't his eyesight that he paid attention to, nor the sound of panicked voices calling his name out. Even the hands that were pressed against his shoulders, trying to wrestle him back down into the bed, were nothing compared to the feeling of his fingers hanging limp at his sides.

Ignis tightened his grip, allowing the burst of air escape when his hands did exactly as he told them to, with all of the strength that he had prior to putting on the Ring. There was a burn right around his Ring finger, the memory of his flesh sizzling and his screaming an echo through him. It was still there, hidden just under the surface, but he was not in the mood to dig. 

He was still strong, still alive, and yet—

His hands were numb.

Days passed in a flurry of movement, but were always punctuated by the brightness of light in his eyes and the sinking realization of what he had done... he had banished Ardyn Izunia to the wastelands of the Beyond, if only temporarily. The days which had been darkening so steadily seemed almost brighter. It made Ignis's eyes water. It was too bright, too much. 

And Noctis wasn't there.

That, Ignis knew, was the hardest part of all. The whispered goodbye, the promise Noctis made to keep Ignis alive—all of it had broken the dam inside of Ignis's chest and it became hard to breathe without Noctis there. So many words were unspoken, and yet Ignis knew the one day.... one day he would be given the chance to speak to Noctis again. He would get the opportunity to explain himself, explain why he had done what he had done. Why he had turned his back upon the gods, and in kind they had done the same to him.

Wallowing in silence had become something that was intrinsically part of Ignis, just as sure as he breathed. This was nothing new, nothing shocking or surprising.

It had been so hard to bite down on his tongue when the wedding had been announced, and even more difficult to smile and assure Noctis that it was for the best. The Oracle and the King, meant to bring the dawn. Lady Lunafreya was meant to usher in peace and prosperity to the people of Eos, and to do so she would heal those afflicted by the Scourge. And Noctis was meant to be beside her as the King of Kings, the Chosen one. 

But Lady Lunafreya was gone, and Noctis was cocooned within the Crystal, and Ignis...

Ignis was alive. Ignis was alive and alone.

And it hurt to breathe sometimes, because all Ignis could think about was Noctis's small nod, his nearly indecipherable smile, before the crystal accepted him like an old lover.

Now was the time of reflection, of learning, of preparing. It was the time that Ignis had to make sure that Noctis came back to a world that was not devoid of the light, but held the promise of the dawn. Ignis had not gone against the gods and the Accursed himself, only to lose Noctis.

He couldn't lose Noctis again.

But.... his hands were still numb. How was he to protect Noctis when he could not wield his daggers?

It took time for the feeling to slowly return to each digit, more like a phantom pain than the reality of bones and tendons held together by muscle and skin. It was Ignis laying in bed with his hands resting over his eyes, staring up at skin that would never dare look right again. He had accepted the burden of the Ring, and came out on the other side still breathing.... This was not the pain of the Ring, no matter how hard he wished it to be. There was something else, something under the surface waiting to come forward.

Time passed, days became weeks, and Ignis knew that there was something to the phantom aches the first time he brushed against a child touched by the Plague of the Stars. The sickly blotches of dying skin flushed pink like a morning bloom opening its petals toward the yawning sun. 

"But... I do not have the blood of the Oracle," Ignis intoned as he stared down at his hands, at the dead weight attached to his wrists that had washed away the illness of the child, taking pain and giving hope in exchange. "I assure you—I'm just a man."

But the child's mother did not care for words as she pressed kisses against his hands, at the skin that had taken away her little boy's pain. The Gods, she said, were kind. The Gods were gracious and benevolent. The Gods were—the Gods were—the Gods were— 

Ignis had bitten down on the inside of his cheek. The Gods—he knew just what they were. He knew their price, that their benediction was writ in blood and sealed in breath. It was the knife at Ignis's throat, the one in his hand, the one that Noctis would one day allow to pierce his chest and pin him to the throne like a butterfly against the cork board. And with every sweet thank you and every murmur of the Gods bestowing an Oracle where there was none, Ignis allowed himself to die a little more inside.

Ignis vomited black tar later that night, feeling the sting as it sunk into the place where he had let his teeth rip into delicate flesh. Was this what the Oracle had done every night? Was this the payment Lady Lunafreya gave to cure disease that wrought their planet?

No wonder she had welcomed death's embrace. But Ignis... Ignis knew pain.

If Lady Lunafreya had left this to him, if this was his payment to keep Noctis safe, then he would pay it a thousand-fold.

She came to him sometimes, in his dreams. She was beautiful in her white dress and somber smile. It was the kind of smile that spoke of a childhood lost and dreams broken. She had been the Oracle, yes, but she had also been a woman. And, before that, a child. A child who watched her mother die and her homeland taken. A child who, long before the moment when Tenebrae burned, had given up herself to safeguard the world and Noctis.

Lady Lunafreya was beautiful in her sadness, and perhaps that was why the Gods had guided her toward embracing death rather than fighting for life.

He voiced this to her in the vales of a place he had never seen, under the canopy of leaves that were crisped in pale blue ice. Had she even thought to try? Had she wanted life?

"Noctis wished for you to live."

It bit something inside of him, much like the tar that had begun to burn his throat.  

"Noctis wishes for many things, but not all may come to pass. My time was short, but I have fulfilled my calling."

But had she? She had given herself into the darkness, and now it was for Ignis to glue the pieces back into place.

"But I trust in you, Ignis." 

"Why?"

"Because you have done what I could not," Lady Lunafreya said, instead choosing to caress his cheek and bring life to his dulled hands. "And he has always loved you for that. And I... I must be honest. I have always envied you."

"Whatever for?" Ignis did not understand how the Oracle could ever envy him. He was nothing in the grand scheme of things—only a chamberlain with nothing to his name. The only things he had were limited: His devotion to Noctis, his daggers, and his mind. 

Lady Lunafreya was pure magic and beauty. She was graceful and elegant, something Noctis has always spoken of in awe and reverence. She was supposed to be his bride. He had seen the dress, the gown made of silk and a thousand dreams held in the palms of a child’s hands. 

“You were able to see the true Noctis, past his name and title as Chosen King.” Luna leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “He would write to me of you, how you occasionally coddled him when he knew you shouldn’t. He thought it was to do with his status, but I always knew better." 

“My Lady—“

“Hush. Let me speak freely.”

And Ignis let her, because who was he to deny the Oracle?

“We were born to this Planet and raised on her soil as her vessels. Our choices make us who we are, but neither Noctis nor I were afforded such choice. I long ago accepted this. The Gods spoke, and my duty was to listen. I knew of Noctis before I met him, knew of his duty before I knew of his name. The gods asked me to guide him to the soul of the star, to receive the blessing of the Gods to purge its taint. I knew it would kill him and I both, but I never wavered. That was my duty, Ignis.”

Even knowing that the gods planned made Ignis’s stomach revolt against his insides. He found himself pulling away from her warmth, her light. “And you would have me do the same?” He felt the anger boil under his skin, so much like the magic of the Ring. “I refuse to lead him to his death. I refuse."

“My magic… do remember when I passed on?”

It was hard for Ignis to forget her bright magic slowly beginning to fade from the sky, the yellow of Pryna’s eyes and the light as she died, the Prophecy… Noctis’s body next to Lunafreya, so peaceful and yet so close to death. He was cradled in the arms of Oblivion, and Ignis had willingly traded himself to Ardyn to keep Noctis safe. 

“Yes.”

“My magic did not die.” She reached out to grab his hands, pressing them to her chest. He could feel warmth in his fingers, the tingling of something so much more than just the phantom pain. “I gave my magic to you—for if I did not have the strength to save him in life, perhaps my death could forestall the inevitable outcome.”

“Inevitable?”

“He will die, Ignis. Pray to the wind and to the stars for the Gods have seen him worthy of ascension. The magic inside him is strong, Ignis. Ardyn has the taint of the Gods inside him, and I could only heal enough to make him mortal—barely so. But I knew—I knew that the Star would suffer without an Oracle to cleanse his taint. But I know to banish the darkness, there must be a blood sacrifice. I hoped my death would be enough, though I knew in my heart it would not be so.”

Ignis tried to pull his hands away again, but Land Lunafreya only held tighter. 

“Do you not see?”

“No.”

“Noctis will one day die to destroy the Accursed in his entirety from our star, yes. But I have given you the power of time. I have given you my magic, and in exchange you may barter for a life lived, a life cherished, a future dawn seen. You may use the magic as you please; it is yours. I believe that you will use it for the betterment of your people—of my people. But when you pass on, the magic of the Oracles shall go with you.”

Ignis felt the warmth of her hands against his numb ones. It was like the sparks of a fire rolling below the skin.

“It—it hurts.” He knew he sounded like a child, whimpering over burns from standing too close to the flame. It felt like weakness to admit as such, but Lady Lunafreya merely pulled back, pressing a kiss to his forehead. The light around them was fading fast and Ignis knew the time for sleep was near its end. 

"I could tell no other, either," she admitted. Her face was like pulling the end of a ribbon, and he could see what was cocooned inside the polite words and the white magic. She was nothing but a child, alone and scared, yearning for the touch of the sun. 

“Does it get any better?”

She shook her head, blonde hair a halo around her. 

“Pray to the wind and stars, for they shall be the mighty allies of Eos.”

She hid herself in his nightly dreams, a presence he knew was locked away tight but always out of sight. But sometimes when the pain became too much, she would appear like a goddess of life and death. She whispered things to him that no one else could hear—of her dreams, of her hopes, of the Gods that had whispered into her ear, just as she did to him.

She whispered of a king just beyond reach, a king who gathered his strength for the prophesied hour. 

A king they would both save. 

For far too long, Ignis waited. He waited for salvation, waited for an answer, waited for Noctis. The more time passed, the more the pain of the scourge ached in his core, the more Ignis wished for Noctis to return. 

Noctis did not come, but Ravus did.

"This is my sister's gift. Do not dare squander it. If she was willing to lay down her life for your king, then you must be willing to do the same."

Ignis knew better than speak out about the pain of waking in the morning without Noctis, because he knew that Noctis was alive, and Lady Lunafreya was gone. Not even handful of ashes could be scattered in her memory, a thought that never quite left Ignis entirely. She had gone into the light unquestioning, unfailingly.

What was pain when Ravus looked up to him, his eyes the memory of a man broken by his own deeds? The Ring had judged him unworthy, but they had chosen Ignis. The Gods had taken his sister, but Ignis.... Ignis still had Noctis. Frozen in the cradle of the Star, yes, but Noctis would come back to him. He would come back, and Noctis would end the Accursed.

But there would be no blood, no goodbyes, no mournful eulogies whispered at the broken throne of a broken king. 

“I know,” Ignis would always reply. 

Ignis knew the sacrifice he was willing to give, and so he took those words with him as he tried to ease the taint of the Accursed. There were so many affected, so many dying, but with each person he went to he could almost see the sky clear and the darkness draw back further and further. 

But more than that, it was watching the people. Some called him a fraud, others called him savior. The line of Oracles had been a line of women of the Nox Fleuret family. It was in their blood, in their souls. Ignis’s mother was Tenebraen, but of no royal lineage. His father had been an advisor to the Lucis Caelum line as far back as records went. There was no magic in his blood. 

Perhaps they were right to call Ignis a fraud. He had always hidden himself, hidden the parts of him he knew others would judge him for—Noctis. 

But it was for Noctis that Ignis continued forward, until the day that Noctis would return to him.

Time.

He needed time.

_They_ needed time.  



End file.
